


Creatures of the Night

by lc_writesnread



Category: Ben Hardy - Fandom, Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Freddie Mercury - Fandom, John Deacon - Fandom, Queen (Band), brian may - Fandom, roger taylor - Fandom
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 22:32:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18019676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lc_writesnread/pseuds/lc_writesnread
Summary: You’re a videographer, and you get the opportunity of a lifetime as you’re invited to direct and film the News of the World documentary. But you don’t expect to fall for the photogenic drummer.





	Creatures of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been thinking about this for a few months, really - ever since I was about to complete my last fic. Now that it’s complete, here it is! There’s only three parts to it, which I know it’s short compared to my last fic, but hey, sometimes there’s not as much story to tell. This is a shorter, more intense one. That being said, the chapters are gonna be longer than usual. Hope you enjoy it! I’d love to get some feedback since I haven’t really explored this mature, more wild side of the band.

_Part 1 - Waxing Moon_

The first time you ever saw him, you knew you could never forget his face.

It was the prettiest face you’ve seen, alright, but that didn’t seem to capture it just right - it sounded too childish, too mundane. His face was different - his skin reflected the light beautifully, like marble, little imperfections only adding to the texture, making it more interesting. You wanted to photograph him.

But he was even better being filmed, the way he’d smile when thinking about what to say, the way his messy, bleached hair bounced back the light and burnt the film made him look angelical, a halo around his head - you couldn’t wait to see how it looked on the cutting room.

You were a videographer on Tiswas, a dumb gig you’ve only accepted cause it payed better than your last one, but it was good for your portfolio - Sally James, the host, was unbelievably beautiful, and you had almost no supervision, so you could easily film her in a more cinematic, artistic manner, something you’d never be allowed to do as a cameraman on television news - or cameraperson, as people said uncomfortably when they realized you were a woman operating the camera.

It took awhile for people on TV news to take you seriously - a tiny, young women in oversized clothing and hair pulled back in the middle of old, strong man - but you were their best videographer before you were even hired, getting the job after selling them footage from Woodstock when you were only 19. In the middle of a stoned, drunken haze, you were still cold blooded enough to film the whole festival, almost getting lost from your friends as you tried to get clear audio, doing more artistic work as you filmed during an acid trip. Your parents would kill you if they knew you took your expensive video camera to the festival, but it got you a job.

And what a job. It was you the editor in chief chose to film the signing of the Beatles Agreement, and you followed George Harrison around as he tried to find the room where all the Beatles agreed to end the band that you loved maniacally during your teenage years, trying not to shake as you filmed the reaction on the streets. You wanted to scream along all the desperate girls in their mid-twenties.

But back at Tiswas, the [very short interview](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DnakYjO2xDoc%26t%3D1s%29&t=MGY3MTA3M2I0NzhmMmQ0MjIwZDQ5YzBjZmY4NzUwZTk0NTY0ODY0ZCx1M1RoYWdHdA%3D%3D&b=t%3AeeKkqbFLiyJA4P6HRcTofA&p=http%3A%2F%2Fx1975sos.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F183266394682%2Fcreatures-of-the-night-part-1&m=1) was cemented in your memory as one of your favorites just because of him. You knew who Roger Taylor was before you’ve filmed him - you saw his face on the videos for Queen, but you didn’t really care for him or the band, really. You almost liked them in their Killer Queen days, just because you loved glam rock, but you felt indifferent to their opera rock - you felt like Bohemian Rhapsody was a bloated mess, and it’s success only made the band go on with their overly edited stuff.

But during the lighting test, still makeup-less, a bit shy, having to promote an album alone, probably thinking about flirting with Sally - dazed and confused, photogenic and beautiful - that was the first time you really  _saw_  him, no distractions.

So when you got home, a year after the interview, to a voicemail inviting you to direct a documentary for Queen’s News of the World Tour, you thought of him, his bright smile permanently marked on your film, even before you thought of the logistics of the job.

A week later, you met the only other crew member that would help you do your job - Josh Barnes, another twenty something videographer that didn’t have a portfolio as impressive as yours, but did have a messy curly hair and odd clothing, so he grabbed your attention. You were informed you’d share hotel rooms during the tour.

But Josh wasn’t the only one grabbing your attention then, cause that was the day you met the band and the tour crew, and you could swear the band members forgot your name as soon as you told them, Roger only spending a fraction of a second longer looking at you once you were introduced. You wondered if he remembered you.

They set up to perform one of their singles, We Are The Champions, so you can have some footage of them on studio, and you can’t help but enjoy the melody, glad it was simple - you could only hope you enjoy the rest of the songs they play on tour, or else it would be a painful gig, since you’ll be filming their every rehearsal and every show for the next few months.

You feel like you’re being watched by some of the people higher up than you, people that definitely could still fire you on your first day, so you’re quick to establish a dynamic with Josh, explaining what you intend to do that day and delegating him tasks.

But once you two go inside the recording booth, where the band is talking and waiting for you to start filming, you realize there’s no room for two people to work - one of you would keep appearing on the other’s footage. So you tell Josh to stay outside and clear your throat to get the attention of the band.

“Can you take your places? I’m trying to decide how I’m gonna film this”, you say, and they exchange glances before getting to their places - you were sure Freddie held a laugh. You knew you were considered bossy, but hell, you always got the job done flawlessly, so be it.

“So Freddie and Roger can’t move, since the drum kit and the piano are too heavy to move around quickly”, you said, more to yourself them to the rest of the band. “Brian and John, can you lean on these amps?” you ask, and they do as you tell them.

“Sorry for bossing you around already. As a director, that’s basically my job. But, if you pay attention, now you’re all forming a triangle on the room, so I can fit you all in a well composed shot if I stay behind any of you”, you explain, and Roger raises his eyebrow to Freddie, almost asking for confirmation - you heard that Freddie was more of a visual artist as well. He nodded lightly back at the drummer.

So you position yourself behind Freddie’s shoulder and start a countdown, so the band understands you’re recording. They start playing, and you walk along them - Freddie was looking down as he played the piano, so the lights weren’t as flattering, and Brian and John were done with their bits once you focused on them, so you were quick enough to film Roger, basically doing a 360 around him.

You filmed him as you were in front of the drums, and then started to go around them. You wish you had Josh along with you so you could do some closeups - his hands twirling the drumstick on his left hand, the cigarette hanging from his lips, his profile against the black foam covering the walls. But you didn’t have another videographer, so you had to do a very conscious effort to stop filming him and go back to Brian and John, now playing their instruments, while you’re still dazed by his strong scent - cologne and cigarette smoke, even stronger once you were behind him, his shorter hair on your viewfinder.

You were happy to get his profile later, as they sang the vocals, and a few closeups of his long fingers twirling the sticks in the middle of closeups of John strumming his bass, contre-plongées of Brian on the guitar and shots of Freddie playing the piano against the light.

“She’s very decided”, you heard Freddie say once you were all outside the recording booth, a small distance between you as you packed. “I like her”, Roger said, his voice much raspier than you remembered. “Feels like she knows what she’s doing”, he completed, and you smiled as you zipped your equipment bag shut.

The other day on studio, you felt like Roger was being funny specifically for your camera - ordering a coffee with one and 3/7 sugars, and saying a song sounded great since his part hasn’t been recorded. You watched him tense up as you kneeled down beside him on the mixing desk, turning his face away from you.

It didn’t help your work that the whole band was camera shy. John was sweet, and was able to give good answers even in the most improbable interview situations, like the time you interviewed him on a car. Brian was quite honest on his answers, unlike Freddie, usually sarcastic, and Roger, who never really properly answered what you asked. But in every candid shot you tried to get, every spontaneous moment, they shut down, still not used to your presence.

Roger was more open to you and your camera once he was drunk, posing with his bottle of wine with John by his side on studio, giving proper answers to your questions on the album’s launch party, a glass of champagne on his hand.

He got used to having you close to him eventually, since one of your favorite angles to shoot was the view from behind his shoulder when Freddie was not on the piano, trying to fit in the small space between Roger and the gong behind him. Roger was tense at first, feeling you mere inches from him, but relaxed as you got used to each other’s movements, a choreography where you knew the moments you should go a little further away from him so he could turn to the side and sing, a natural flow developing between the two of you.

Once, during your lunch break, you were talking to Josh when you heard music, so you dropped your sandwich, got your camera and ran to the rehearsal stage in mere seconds, only to find Freddie on the drums and Roger on Brian’s guitar, the Red Special, and as soon as Freddie saw you - the camera already on - he almost stopped drumming, but he went on as you and Roger nodded together in encouragement, smiling at each other once Freddie drummed, and you quickly turned your camera to capture Roger’s smile again, taking a few seconds to remember you should try to properly compose a shot, moving around to include John on the foreground.

You were happy no one was checking your work but Josh, because it would be embarrassing - you did film Roger more than you should, having as much footage of him as you had of Freddie, the frontman, the one in a gloriously sparkling Paco Rabanne leotard instead of hidden behind the drums.

But Roger was just so goddamn photogenic - his shyness in front of the camera appearing in form of joking around once he realized you were filming, pretending to pick his nose, showing his tongue, taking his robe off dramatically in the dressing room.

It was him on the center of the frame when you filmed without thinking much - in every shot of the band discussing during the rehearsal, or in shots of him and Deacon driving there, or even when you filmed candid moments; it was almost as if you responded unconsciously to his movements, always focusing on him.

You were torn between just thinking that Roger was a good model and actually being attracted to him. You only realized how frustrated he got you once you were already on tour with them, in America.

He sent one of the roadies to tell you that he and Freddie would rehearse Get Down, Make Love. You were in your shared room with Josh, and you’d usually sent him to film this - it wasn’t super important, just some extra B-Roll - but he was napping, snoring soundly. Poor guy stayed up later than you, since you gave him the task of organizing the footage and taking care of the equipment. He almost never complained, a sweet boy that always did as you told him, always looking a bit too pretty on his shorts and band shirts, always too respectful to openly flirt with you, but always giving you the space to do so, reminding you he was single in every opportunity he had - nearly boring, but cute, nearby and accessible.

One time you were truly pissed with him - he only caught audio of the band arguing once you were not around to film it, forgetting to take the lens cap off - and he apologized and apologized, never even talking back at you.

So you didn’t wake Josh up and went to the venue, across the street from the hotel, to find them already playing.

At first, you got them on wide, but without the lights, it just looked flat. So you started filming closeups.

Roger pouted in concentration in an extreme closeup you did, and you realized your breathing was heavy, right as you watched him lightly rub his lips against the mic groaning “Get down”, his face only dimly lit on one side, and you subconsciously pressed your thighs together, kneeling on the side of the drum riser. You took a deep breath and forced yourself to zoom out, your hands a bit shaky as you got up and walked to Freddie, so you could film him and calm down.

But you were so frustrated, you just needed someone to touch you and to be touched as you wanted,  _needed_  to touch Roger, but you didn’t knew anyone on the cities you were visiting.

That night, you stayed up as Josh organized the footage and the equipment, putting new film into the two cameras with his long fingers - quite similar to Roger’s. Once he was done, you decided to take a quick shower, and left the bathroom still wrapped in a towel, the first move you made on him.

That was the first night you fucked Josh out of desire caused by Roger - the first of many.

You couldn’t flirt with Roger - he had a gorgeous girlfriend and pretty groupies everywhere you went, so he definitely wouldn’t care about you, who never wore any makeup or looked twice in the mirror before going out.

So you enjoyed some careless sex with Josh, and you enjoyed his friendship - you went to the movies together and he asked for advice on his career from you.

You two had agreed on going to a carnival, and he challenged you to climb the ferris wheel before the staff called the cops. It was fun to do these things on tour - you’d never see anyone from any town ever again.

But before that, you needed some footage of Queen’s after parties, so Josh followed you around as you tried filming the band having fun, but the only one being more receptive was Roger. Surprisingly, there was no girls around him, but that was probably just him being smart - you could bet he sent home the midwestern girl he was going to fuck as soon as he saw the camera, not wanting to get caught cheating on his girlfriend.

Eventually you had enough footage and called it a day, and told Josh to go organize the footage before you left. “Are you coming with me to the room?” he asked. “No, I’m getting a drink. I didn’t enjoy the free booze as much as I should have until now”, you said, and he smiled in response before leaving.

“Y/N”, you hear a too well-known voice say as you lean on the bar. Roger is walking towards you.

“Roger” you answered, and turned to ask for a drink. But Roger’s hand on top of yours distracted you.

“Didn’t thought I’d see you in an after party”, he said, leaning into the bar as well. You’ve been this close to him before, but never without your camera between you. You were not used to see him like this, raw, with no viewfinder intermediating the rays of light between your eyes and his, your lips and his. It felt like a step closer to touching.

“What do you mean? I always come”, you answer, trying to play it cool, as if you weren’t moving your gaze from his eyes to his lips oftenly.

“Yeah, but you’re always behind that goddamn camera of yours”, he says, and looks at the space behind you, checking to see if you’re alone. “And there’s always your minion breathing behind your back”, he tells you.

“Didn’t thought you were watching me”, you said, shrugging.

“It just feels fair, considering it’s your job to watch me”, he says, then looks to the rest of the party. “It’s quite voyeuristic, if I may say so”, he says, and you laugh.

“Never thought of my job with a sexual undertone before”, you lie, tapping your fingers against the bar.

“Really? I actually started to enjoy the feeling of your eyes on me”, he smirks, and you feel the blush on your cheeks.  _Touché_.

“Just looking for a nice shot”, you answer, looking away from him.

“That’s a pity. I guess you’re not interested in having a good time with me, then”, it’s his time to shrug.

“Define ‘a good time’”, you ask, and he smirks. You quickly think of Josh, waiting for you in your room, but a brief second - and a quick flash of Roger’s smile - is all you need to shut the thought off.

“Open your mouth”, Roger tells you, and you frown, confused. “Here?”, you ask, and he laughs. “Yeah, here”, he answers, looking for a small ziplock in his pocket. “Just trust me, alright?”, he asks, and you open your mouth lightly.

“Tongue out”, he tells you, and you do so. You watch as he picks up a small paper square with his fingertips. “Are you okay with it?”, he asks, and you nod a yes.

So Roger’s index soon touches the tip of your tongue, leaving the small piece of LSD there to dissolve. He quickly does the same, and calls the barman, ordering Perrier water, which the barman quickly pours in two glasses. Roger passes one of them to you, and raises his glass for a toast.

“A good time”, he says, and you repeat it, receiving a quick smile from him before the two of you chug the water down.

It doesn’t take very long before you can feel the effects on your body - lights get more intense, and time seemed to slow down a bit. You saw Roger’s pupil dilate, and he pulled you to the dance floor.

His touch felt like lighting, electricity gluing your skins together, and he pulled you closer to the sound of Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood, the castanets looping on your brain, Roger’s eyes turning completely blue, his hair shining like the sun, blinding you, and you just needed to dance because there was so much energy contained inside of you, and every time you felt him touching your skin, you felt more energy accumulating, and if you didn’t dance it out, you would burst into spontaneous combustion.

Yet you needed to feel his skin against yours more and more, and you pulled him closer so could feel him, his smell, his saturated colors, and you ached for his touch, turning around and dancing with your back glued to him, his hand wrapping around your waist to keep you there, close, the loud music bonding you together, melting the two of you against each other, buzzing through the air.

“I fucking hate this song!!” Roger screamed into your ear, but you couldn’t stop dancing for a second, so you kept moving, grinding your hips against his.

“Hey, c'mon, let’s find my room so I can pick a decent song”, Roger managed to say, his breath burning your skin, but you enjoyed the feeling and craved more of it, more of his touch.

“But I can’t go somewhere quiet!”, you told him, still dancing to the playlist full of shitty hits. “I’ll sing to you”, he said, and you considered, still dancing, now to Feels Like The First Time.

He started screaming the chorus, and that was good enough for you, so you followed him to the hall. You kept dancing maniacally as he tried to remember his floor, eventually being guided there by one of the crew members, trying to ask where his suite was as he sang high notes to the rhythm of the Foreigner song to keep you satisfied, dancing alone in the hallways.

Once you got to his suite, he turned the radio on, and Immigrant Song has just started. You both started screaming - his voice almost in harmony with Robert’s voice coming through the radio - and he jumped into bed, offering you a hand so you could jump along. You did, and you jumped in bed, the water mattress squealing under your weight as you babbling the lyrics, random words coming out of your mouths about ice, snow, midnight suns and Valhalla.

It was followed by Dark Lady, and you kept jumping and screaming on his bed for hours to every song that the radio played, stopping only when you realized you were hoarse, the Stairway to Heaven intro giving you time to recover your breath.

Roger jumped out of bed to get you a bottle of sparkling water on his mini fridge, and you sat down, feeling the effect of the drug passing. He opened the bottle and had a sip before passing it to you. After giving him a weak smile, you drank half of the bottle in only a few seconds. He layed by your side.

You put the bottle down on the ground and lay down with him. His pupils are still big, but smaller than the last time you noticed, so the effect is getting weaker on him too.

That doesn’t stop him from lifting his hand, moving it closer to your lips, his warm hand encompassing your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lower lip.

You don’t resist the temptation, moving your own hand to his hair, his teased strands tickling your palm before you entangled your fingers on them.

He slowly pulls you closer to him, and you never saw the blue of his eyes in such close proximity.

Cause you were never this close to kissing him before.

And a glimpse of sobriety hits you - you’re about to kiss Roger Taylor in the middle of an acid trip.

That’s not how you want it to go; it doesn’t feel right, now that you really thought about it.

“Roger, this is not right”, you say, and he freezes. “It feels right to me”, he says, staring deep into your eyes, relaxing, getting closer to you again.

“It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you, or sleep with you. I do”, you blurp out, almost regretting it, scared of rejection even as he’s leaning in for a kiss. “So what’s not right?”, he asks, frowning.

“I don’t want to fuck you while we’re tripping. It’s gonna be fucking terrible”, you say, and he laughs. “I mean it, though. I want it to be good. I’d rather not have you than have you like this”, you tell him, and he laughs again.

“You’re really  _that_ decided, aren’t you?”, he asks, and it’s your turn to laugh. “I guess I am”, you say.

“Since we’re not fucking, or even kissing, can I still touch you? Your arms, your hair. I’m not tripping as hard, but my skin is itching. I need to touch you”, he says, and you nod.

So, with Roger’s callous fingers brushing against your soft skin and his husky voice humming Led Zeppelin, you fall asleep.

-

The sunlight makes you see red before you even open your eyelids.

You feel cold, the AC too strong for your liking - Josh wouldn’t change the temperature, he knew how you liked it.

So you opened your eyes to find yourself on an empty bed, much bigger than yours. The only sound in the room comes from someone brushing their teeth.

Roger Taylor is only in a towel, wrapped low around his hips, leaning into the sink, his signature halo of hair now wet.

You let out a scream.

The memories from last night hit you at the same time he turns around and looks at you, concerned.

“Hey, you alright?”, he asks, and you nod, feeling your legs ache from the exercise you had, jumping like mad for hours.

“Yeah, just couldn’t remember everything at first”, you said, and he looked down at himself. “Oh, don’t worry. We didn’t do anything. You had some interesting reasoning behind it”, he said, and you blushed.

“Roger, I’m so sorry. All this has been so unprofessional, thank God there’s not a show today”, you say, and he interrupts you. “It’s alright, Y/N. There would be nothing for you to do anyway, since I’ve spent the morning locked here”, he said, and you gasped.

“All morning? What time is it?” you ask, and he points to the clock. “Three in the afternoon. Relax, you said it yourself, it’s a day off”, he shrugged, and went back to the sink.

“Josh is probably concerned with me, doesn’t even know where I am”, you murmured. “Is he your boyfriend or something?”, he asked, and you nodded a no. “So there’s no reason for all this. Besides, the whole crew probably saw you with me, so there’s a huge chance he knows your whereabouts”, Roger completed.

“God, and we didn’t even  _do_  anything”, you say, getting off bed. “I’m sorry for all this, Roger. I’ll go to my room”, you said, looking for your shoes. “God, I haven’t had such an intense trip ever since Woodstock”, you said to yourself, and Roger coughed. “Since when?” he asks, and you repeat, looking at him. “Woodstock”, you say, proud, and he walks toward you.

“There’s no way in hell you’re getting out of this room without telling me this story”, he said, and you smiled.

You told him about Woodstock, and the Beatles, only stopping so you could take a quick shower on his bathroom, putting on some of his clean clothes. He wanted your company, and you never realized how lonely he could get, never getting to know anyone who had a more interesting life than his.

He ordered room service for the two of you, a weird pizza full of pineapples, and you took it to his balcony, watching the twilight over the Badlands National Park, a breathtaking view you couldn’t believe you were getting to experience, just like you couldn’t believe you were experiencing listening to Roger Taylor complain about pineapple on his pizza. “I hate the Midwest so much. How can you fuck up pizza with fucking fruit? I expect this in California, not here”, he complains, and you laugh at him.

He looks at you, and for a moment you see him as saturated as you saw last night, his blinding hair and deep blue eyes. “I have an idea”, he says, putting his plate to the side and going inside the room.

He comes back with a Polaroid in his hands, and you instantly cover your face. “I don’t like to be photographed, thanks”, you say, but he kneels down in front of you, trying to get to the same level as your eyes.

“C'mon Y/N, it’s just fair. You’re filming me all the time!!” he complains, and you sigh. “That’s my job, Roger”.

“Hey, hey, it’s fine”, he says, moving your hands down and away from your face. “I just want to see you the way you see me”, he tells you, positioning the camera so he can watch you through the viewfinder, his free hand moving a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“I just want to  _see_  you”, he whispers, letting the camera slowly move down as he caresses your cheek with the hand that was on your hair.

He brushes his thumb over your lower lip again, and this time, you lean into him.

And even though you’re sober, you could swear you feel the same electricity connecting you as his plump lips move against yours.


End file.
